


Blazed Before Me

by toewsyourheart



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Birthday Smut, Firsts, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:25:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3838729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school & rooftop handies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blazed Before Me

**Author's Note:**

> Underage Warning: Jonny's technically still 15 here, and Brent's just turned 18, so know thaaat. 
> 
> come find me on the tumblr @ [toewsme88](http://toewsme1988.tumblr.com).

“Just as I fucking suspected…” Jonny mutters petulantly to himself as he stomps out of the science building, physics II exam and lunch in tow, headed for his ‘I need alone time’ spot. 

He’d been seven— _seven_ —points from a perfect score, and the worst part was, he’d realized his mistake as soon as he’d handed the damn thing in on test day last Friday. He’d labored over the problem, just couldn’t get things to click in his head, then as soon as he’d stepped out of the classroom, he had an ‘aha’ moment and cursed under his breath…Too fucking late then, so goodbye seven points. 

The whole thing’s got Jonny huffy, so he’s really not in the mood for jovial lunch period activities with friends _._ Instead, he’s decided to sneak up to the roof of the old library on the other side of campus—his favorite place to chill when he’s feeling overwhelmed, or in this case, angry with himself. Jonny takes his grades seriously, just like his hockey, and if he’s going to graduate in the top of his class (and win a state championship by then, too), he’s got to be dedicated from start to finish. He realizes a ninety-three on this exam probably isn’t the end of the world, but he _knew_ how to do the problem, needs to be _better_ next time. 

Jonny checks and double-checks his surroundings as he crosses the yard and tiptoes to the back of the building once he’s sure nobody’s looking to spot him. Getting caught for this would mean detention, without a doubt, and Jonny certainly can’t deal with that right now, too. 

When he gets to the fire escape, he rolls up the exam, stuffs it in his back pocket, and secures his lunch sack between his teeth so his hands are free to climb. At the final rung of the ladder, he throws his leg over the ledge and hops down onto the roof, feet smacking against the rubber flooring a bit louder than he intends. 

“Shit,” he hisses quietly, and cranes his head over to scan the yard again—hopefully nobody heard that, and he’s just being paranoid… 

The door to the stairwell leading in from the library is smack in the middle of the roof, and Jonny always prefers to sit on the east side of the structure so it shields him from the sun. When he rounds the corner, he gasps, almost jumps out of his skin. There’s someone else, Brent Seabrook of all people, staring him straight in the face, wide-eyed—looking absolutely _caught_.

Brent’s a senior—older than Jonny, obviously, since he’s just a sophomore—and it _shows_. He’s bigger in every way, taller, more filled-out, and he can already grow a better beard than most of the male teachers here at their high school. He doesn’t know Brent well, per se—they run in different circles off-ice, don’t take any of the same classes—but he’s an alternate captain of Jonny’s hockey team, and Jonny’s certainly been _aware_ of him, almost _too_ aware you could say, since he made varsity in the fall. 

His locker was actually next to Brent’s this season (that ended entirely too soon, by the way), and he can’t say he was displeased with the set up. He really admires Brent’s leadership in the room, enjoyed the proximity, and Jonny’s a centerman, always looking to develop his two-way game, and Brent’s hockey—his defense—is solid, strong, just _good_. 

Jonny’s so into it…or him. Or both? Fuck. The thing is, this whole ‘maybe being into guys’ deal is a new development for Jonny. He can’t truly tell if he’s just being a hormone-crazed teenager with a hockey crush or if it’s something _else_ —if it’s real—and he doesn’t want to say it’s all Brent’s fault, but it might be… 

Jonny just knows there were times this season when his eyes lingered on Brent for far too long in the locker room or out on the ice, just watching, mouth dry, like it is now, feeling that newly familiar heat pool in his belly. Brent was always praising him, too, casually touching him…trying to make him feel welcome, like part of the team. 

“Nice work out there today, kid,” he’d say, and ruffle Jonny’s hair, pat his thigh, or throw an arm around his neck, and sometimes Jonny swore— _swore_ —those dark, heated looks Brent would give him weren’t just in his head—that the tension he felt when Brent would catch him staring was real, that Brent felt it too. 

And God, yeah, okay—Jonny’s into him, and this is the first time they’ve been alone, really and safely _alone_ , with each other outside of the locker room, outside of team activities, and the thought makes that heat return…makes Jonny heartbeat pick up. He’s almost sixteen, yeah, but this is the first time he’s felt so, _overwhelmed_ with someone, where he can feel it in his gut. 

When he must realize he’s not being busted by their principal or something—that it’s only Jonny—Brent’s face changes from the shocked look he was sporting to a slow, smug grin. He’s always so cool, relaxed, confident, and now is no different. Jonny swallows hard. 

“Ah, just you, kid,” Brent says, relieved. He always calls Jonny’s “kid,” even though he’s not even _that_ much older. “Thought the jig was up there for a second.” 

Jonny smiles sheepishly, scuffs his foot on the rubber floor. “Nah—just me,” he says, voice small. 

“What brings you up here to my domain?” Brent asks, sitting forward to sweep his arm out broadly to gesture to the, well, the whole roof, apparently. 

“I started coming up here last semester, when I need to—” _chill the fuck out_ , Jonny thinks, but doesn’t say. He’s not feeling the same agitation he was a minute ago, mostly just anxious now, so no reason to get into it. “—I didn’t know you came up here, too,” he remarks instead. 

“I’m _full_ of surprises,” Brent says, waggling his eyebrows, and scratches a hand through his stubble. Jonny lets his eyes follow the motion. “When you need to what, now?” he prompts, but the question barely registers with Jonny. 

“Huh?” he asks, distracted, shaking his head a little to snap the fuck out of it. 

“You said you sit up here when you need to…?” Brent trails off, waiting for Jonny to supply the rest. 

“Calm down, usually,” Jonny mumbles honestly, and ducks his head, feeling like a child who’s elected to put themselves in a timeout. 

“Calm down, eh? Well, you’re in luck,” Brent says, smile turning devilish. 

“How so?” Jonny asks. 

“You’ve caught me in the pre-stages of my birthday celebration,” Brent replies, and holds up what looks like a cigar, but Jonny knows better. He considers the date—twentieth of April. Ha. 

“It’s your birthday?” Jonny says skeptically, amusement in his voice. 

“It is—4/20. Appropriate, right?” Brent quips with a huge grin, pulling a red lighter from his pocket. 

“I mean, I guess,” Jonny says. “I’ve never—uh, happy birthday,” he finishes lamely, eyes darting from Brent’s face to the blunt and back. Brent heard enough of his half-admission to get it. Jonny’s never smoked—weed or otherwise. He doesn’t want to fuck up his lungs and shit. That’d be no good for his hockey. He drinks occasionally with his friends, though, with the team. There’s always an older guy with a fake ID willing to by for them. Sometimes Brent is that guy. 

“Thanks, kid,” Brent says, then pats the spot next to him. “Have a seat.” 

Jonny shuffles over and lowers himself to the ground, removing his exam from his pocket and placing it next to his lunch sack beside him. 

He looks over just as Brent is putting the blunt between his lips. He lights it up and takes a slow drag, and Jonny watches the rise and fall of his chest as the thick smoke escapes from his mouth. If Jonny’d had any questions about what it was before, the smell clears up any doubt. He’s been around pot before, at a few senior parties he went to during the season; he’s just never actually smoked any, but he knows the smell. 

“You interested?” Brent asks, offering it to Jonny. 

“Uhm, I dunno,” Jonny says hesitantly, and Brent pulls it back to his mouth to take another drag. He coughs quietly this time, stretches his legs out in front of him, and actually scoots over, leaning toward Jonny a little, like he’s about to tell a secret. His proximity is distracting, makes Jonny even more nervy. 

“Before you shut it down, let me just say—if you need to relax, I can think of no better way,” he says, voice low, easy, then he chuckles. “And that rhymed, so you’re welcome for the entertainment.” 

Jonny holds up his lunch sack, then says, a little breathily, “I’ve got the bread. You’ve got the—” 

“—circuses,” Brent finishes with a stifled half-cough, half-laugh, nudging Jonny as he blows out another cloud of smoke. 

“Right,” he chuckles. “Does it fuck up your breathing when you’re trying to play?” 

“Not that I can tell—besides it’s the off season, Jonny boy,” Brent points out, and Jonny furrows his brow. There is no offseason for him—he’s got too much training, too much practicing to do. “Though you don’t seem like the type to indulge in things like _free time_ ,” he finishes teasingly, as if he can see inside Jonny’s head. 

Jonny blushes at Brent’s spot-on assessment. “You could say that,” he admits. “I’ll try it, though.” 

“Ah, that’s the spirit, kid! It _is_ my birthday, after all,” Brent beams, offering the blunt to him again, and this time he takes it in his fingers, watching as the smoke drifts out the end and up into the air between them—like a physical representation of the tension Jonny feels being this close to him. 

Jonny can’t believe he’s doing this in the middle of the damn day, so he hopes like hell Brent’s right about this shit calming him down… 

“Don’t forget to inhale,” Brent reminds him in a half whisper, voice light and rough all at the same time. “Like you’re sucking in a deep, steady breath to make the final push of a shift.” 

“Got it,” Jonny mumbles, and puts it to his lips, taking an apprehensive drag. He pulls the smoke into his lungs and then coughs hard, once, twice on the exhale…and then he gets it together, knowing he’s got to be quiet, though he wonders if anybody could actually hear them way up here anyway. It tasted okay, a little strange, but he doesn’t feel any different, obviously, off just one hit. He passes it back to Brent. 

They quietly repeat the motion a couple times—aside from Jonny’s occasional cough—until Brent breaks the silence. 

“What’s got you up here heated anyway? You didn’t say,” he asks. “It’s part of the therapeutic process—airing your shit out, you know,” he adds, waving a dismissive hand, and takes a hit and passes it back over to Jonny. 

“Physics test—I just, missed a problem I shouldn’t have,” Jonny murmurs, and takes another hit—bigger this time, holds it in longer. He doesn’t cough at all on the exhale, and Brent gives him proud, amused eyes in response. 

“ _A_ problem—like _one_?” Brent teases. “And that drove you to the roof, eh?” 

“I suppose it did,” Jonny answers, feeling loose, tingly, like his insides are being replaced with Jell-O, and settles his head back against the wall. He’s on his fourth or fifth hit now—must be the pot getting to him.

“Gotta lighten up, Jonny,” Brent says, letting his head loll over to the side, even further into Jonny’s space, lips a _maximum_ of six inches from Jonny’s ear. “How you feelin’ now?” 

“Uh, good—not angry anymore,” he stutters out, taking in a shaky breath, and boldly turns his head, too, eyes locking with Brent’s. They’re not red, just glassy, shiny…beautiful… 

“Good, me either,” Brent replies, and Jonny chuckles. 

“You were mad, too?” Jonny inquires, and Brent giggles— _giggles_ —for second before he can reply. 

“Nah,” he says, nonchalant. “It’s my birthday for God’s sake.” 

“Mine’s in nine,” Jonny informs him, taking another drag. It’s a little over halfway gone, and Jonny idly thinks again that this was probably a bold choice for mid-day. He might have to check out early after this—no way he can go to class. Maybe he’ll go take a nap in the locker room until workouts this afternoon… 

“Nine what?” he questions, like he didn’t get it, leaning in closer, which makes it even more difficult for Jonny to focus on answering him—what between that and the haze he’s slipping into here. It’s nice—he _does_ feel relaxed, in a way, but also hyper-aware of all the places where he and Brent are almost touching, where they’re so close he can practically feel the heat radiating between them, and it makes his pulse quicken despite the looseness he feels in his limbs. 

“Nine _days_ —my, uh, birthday,” Jonny says. “April 29th.” 

“Well, I’ll be damned, Jonny boy,” Brent remarks, and he’s so fucking close. _God_ , Jonny thinks, is Brent coming onto him or is he losing it? “This just turned into a joint party—or more like a _blunt_ party, am I right?” he laughs out, jostling Jonny a little. “ _See_ , puns, too. I’m really on a roll here,” he mumbles, eyes darkening as he stares intensely at Jonny. 

He chuckles nervously under Brent’s gaze, distracted by his proximity. Jonny can’t—he can’t _think,_ can’t _breathe_. He just, God, he fucking wants… 

“Wanna see my party trick?” Brent asks, voice low, and Jonny sees the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows hard. 

“S-Sure,” Jonny stutters, and Brent pushes away from the wall to sit up. He bends the leg closest to Jonny Indian-style, presses his shin along Jonny’s thigh and leans in clos _er_ , if that’s even possible at this point. 

“Gonna do a shotgun,” Brent breathes out, placing his right hand firmly on Jonny’s knee. “Just put your mouth on the end and inhale when I give you the word.” 

“Okay,” Jonny chokes out, literally about to explode, wondering what ‘the word’ is. He can’t believe this is happening…whatever this is. 

Brent takes the blunt and turns it around, puts the _cherried_ end—holy shit—between his teeth and closes his lips around it. It’s fairly small now, so there’s not too much sticking out, and Brent motions with his free hand for Jonny to get in there. 

Jonny’s eyes go wide and he leans forward and puts his mouth on the blunt, fucking _centimeters_ from Brent’s, their eyes locked. Fuck, it’s intense… Jonny can feel Brent breathing out his nose, and he shivers. Then Brent slides his hand up Jonny’s thigh, squeezing pointedly—the word. And fuuuck, Jonny feels his dick twitch in his jeans as he starts to inhale. Please no, no, no—if he pops a boner, he’ll have to jump off this roof, probably, due to embarrassment alone. 

He takes the smoke in his lungs and pulls back slightly, holding it in, while Brent takes the blunt out of his mouth. He still hasn’t moved his hand from Jonny’s thigh—instead, he starts massaging, strong fingers digging into the muscles there, and yep, Jonny’s got a real life boner now. Brent shifts closer and breathes out a little nonsensically, “Give it back to me,” and opens his mouth. Jonny’s not positive, but he thinks he knows what Brent’s after, and holy fuck. This can’t be real life. 

Jonny’s in such disbelief at what’s happening, he can’t even feel nervous anymore really, just reacts, and reaches up to grab Brent’s shoulder to steady himself as he leans in and exhales straight back into Brent’s mouth…Their lips fucking _touch_ , and Jonny feels his dick twitch again. Holy fuck. Brent inhales and blows out quickly, a lot of the smoke getting lost in transition, and slides his hand further between Jonny’s legs, lightly brushes their lips together again, and then reaches up to grab the back of Jonny’s neck with his other hand. 

“Jonny, please, can I?” Brent asks, voice thick with arousal, and oh God. 

Jonny doesn’t answer, because he can’t speak, just presses his lips to Brent’s in a silent ‘yes,’ and Brent whines into his mouth as he pulls Jonny hard into him, forcing his tongue between Jonny’s lips, and Jonny just moans in response and opens up. 

Brent closes the distance between his hand and Jonny’s dick, gripping him through his jeans, and Jonny whimpers, a strangled moan escaping his lips. This is the first time Jonny’s ever had a hand on him other than his own, and holy fucking shit, it’s _Brent’s_ hand of all people’s. 

The hand in question starts to stroke him, up and down, the fabric adding more friction, and it shouldn’t feel this fucking good but it _does_ , just having Brent touch him like this, arousal shooting through him, lighting him up through his weed-induced haze. “Fuck, Brent—oh God,” he chokes out, feeling heat in his belly but feeling shivery all at once, and this is going to last approximately thirty seconds, he estimates, _if_ that. 

“You’re so—fuck, do you think I never noticed you? _Looking_ at me like you do…And I was—God, I was looking back, always looking back,” Brent says, voice filthy, sounding a little crazed, stilling his stroke to fumble with Jonny’s zipper. “Let me get you out of there, Jonny,” he breathes, brushing his lips along Jonny’s jawline. “Let me take care of you right.” 

Jonny whines, nods his head frantically, breathing too hard, too loudly to answer with words. It would be embarrassing, but he’s too fucking _close_ to coming, to spontaneously combusting, to care. 

Brent pulls him from his jeans, and Jonny’s all the way hard, foreskin mostly retracted, precum dripping at the tip, and holy fuck, the first swipe of Brent’s thumb over the head of his dick—he almost loses it, has to bite down hard on his lip to keep from coming right then. He had just _thought_ it was good through his pants. 

His breathing is ragged, and he feels absolutely wrecked—knows, just _knows_ , this won’t take much longer, even though he wishes it would last forever. Brent drags his hand up and down slowly, working Jonny’s foreskin over the tip and then back down. “You’re so good, Jonny,” Brent murmurs against the corner of his mouth. “So good for me on the ice, and now…” 

Jonny moans loudly at that—Brent’s praise getting to him, per usual—and arches up into his touch, coming so hard he sees spots, shooting all over Brent’s fist—all over his jeans. “That’s it, baby,” Brent says, stroking him through it, voice heated, gravely. 

It’s the best orgasm Jonny’s ever experienced in his life—which is a pretty small sample size aside from those off his own hand, but still, he’s just sayin’—and the _only_ one he’s ever had that involved another person. He collapses back into the wall, chest heaving as he tries to slow his breathing, tries to wrap his mind around what the fuck just happened. First the weed, and now this? What a day… 

He opens his eyes to find Brent pulling his own dick out of his pants, and oh shit, he’s hard too, staring at Jonny open-mouthed as he starts to jack himself off, aided by the slick of Jonny’s own cumstill left on his hand. _Fuuuck_. 

Jonny gets up on his knees, scoots in close, and laces his fingers with Brent’s around his dick—he wants to help, _has_ to help…needs to touch him. 

Brent hisses when Jonny gets his hand on him. “Shit, Jonny—feels _so_ good—uggnnh,” he groans, and speeds their hands, and Jonny lets himself go, kissing and sucking along Brent’s neck, licking at the shell of his ear, hand sliding up and down Brent’s length. “Fuck, I’m close—about to—” he chokes out after a minute and comes too, all over their hands, some hitting Jonny in the chest where he’s leaned over Brent, but he doesn’t care. “Goddamn, Jonny,” Brent says breathily, hand falling away, letting Jonny jack him through it solo. 

When Brent’s spent, they both settle back against the wall, breathing heavily, legs still touching, and Brent reaches over to rub his hand up and down Jonny’s thigh again, and swear to God, his dick _twitches_ , even though he just came less than five minutes ago. 

“That was…shit, kid. That was—” Brent stutters out, looking over at Jonny again. “Hey,” he says when Jonny doesn’t say anything, sounding out of it, voice sleepy from the weed, from coming, but still concerned at the same time, and squeezes Jonny’s thigh. “You with me?” 

“I’m with you,” Jonny breathes, meeting his eyes and a slow smile spreads across Brent’s face. 

“Meet me back here in nine days for round two of the birthday bash?” he asks, leaning in to rest his forehead against Jonny’s. 

“Who says we have to wait that long?” Jonny answers, voice low, and he feels his cheeks flame up, a little embarrassed at how desperate he probably sounded. 

“Ah, that’s the spirit, Jonny,” Brent responds easily, warmly, and adds to the list of ways in which he’s shocked Jonny today when he presses their lips together again, softer this time.

Jonny chuckles a little. Brent _did_ say he was full of surprises earlier, didn’t he? 

And if his surprises are usually as fucking life changing as this one was—hell, even half, Jonny thinks—then he’s ready for them all.

  

**Author's Note:**

> First Jonny/Seabs fic for [amandaj](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amandaj/pseuds/amandaj) 's Birthday Bash Fest on the tumblr!
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoyed..!
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
